


Harry Potter and the Witch Who Lived

by BluejayPrime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/M, Lily Evans Potter Lives, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluejayPrime/pseuds/BluejayPrime
Summary: It's Halloween 1981 and Voldemort is close, so very close, to what he believes will be his arch nemesis - the infant Harry Potter. As it is, though, in an act of desperation, James Potter dies to protect his wife and son. And when the deadly spell hits Lily Potter, unexpected things happen.





	1. Godric's Hollow

**“Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love.”**

_(Morihei Ueshiba)_

_~*~_

She was dead, undoubtedly.

She remembered the crashing, the screams, the laughter, the green light, and it was very much like she had imagined it, too. The world of the living had dumbed down to almost silence except for a very light ringing in her left ear. Once, she had been diving into the Great Lake; it had been very much like this, with nothing but dim noise and her body floating in what seemed nothingness.

She was alone, too.

That was somewhat disappointing.

Muggles believed in heaven and hell, she knew, of course; her own parents had taken her to church – not once per week, but every now and then, for Christmas and the like. She’d always liked that, when she’d been young – the singing, the high ceilings, the works of art that lined the walls and the statues, holding candles and with wax drops of centuries collected at their feet, and the general atmosphere, the feeling of being part of something old and holy and ancient, had always seemed like magic to her (ironically, as she’d found out soon enough, of course). Then, she had learned about Hogwarts – and well, there was this part about witches and the like…

Still, at least she had hoped to be reunited with her family in the afterlife. Maybe this was not afterlife – maybe you’d have to wait for a bit, to wait for someone to lead you there? But even then…

There was a light, but very present stab in her chest whenever she breathed. If the god her parents had believed in was true, then likely, heaven would not be her first step in the afterlife. In any case, she was inclined to doubt that either the reward for the worthy, or the punishment for the sinful, consisted in minor chest pains and tinnitus.

The baby was crying nearby.

Her lips felt stiff and chapped as she tried to speak, but of course, the dead had no voice.

It was then her body remembered the most important thing: Lily Potter was not dead. She was, however, very close to her own personal interpretation of hell.

Her eyes flew open as memory hit her with the force of an incoming bludger. They also almost immediately met with another set of eyes, darker than her own, red rimmed with tears, the face they belonged to framed by dark hair, and awfully familiar.

She screamed.

So did Severus, the blood draining from his face within a split second as he dropped her from his lap in a kneejerk reaction, and the back of her head hit the floor as he did so. Her hand went for her wand immediately, and only then it was that the rest of her memory returned – they had been downstairs – the door – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – and they had left their wands downstairs – James had – and _Harry_ …

Her eyes wildly darted around the room – focusing briefly on Harry, still crying, in his blue pyjama, tiny fists clinging to the bars of his bed – good – Severus, staring at her with a mixture of disbelief, shock and sheer happiness – what was he doing here, where was – and _James_ …

“Where is he?” The words felt sharp-edged and cold as ice in her throat. “Did – did you come with _him_? Where is he?!”

 _Unfinished business to settle with James_ , something whispered in the back of her head. _Not much of a surprise, is it?_

Severus was still staring at her, having the bleeding gall to look hurt at her words, though the corners of his mouth were still curled into somewhat of a smile – a smile that was starting to feel like another knife in her chest, clenching her heart with blinding fear. One of his sleeves had been pushed up by some random movement; the bare edges of the Dark Mark were showing on his pale skin.

“Lily.” His voice broke as he spoke to her, extending a hand to help her up. She stared at him, much rather pulling herself a step back, barely straightened up on her hands and elbows. One step closer to Harry’s bed, in a vain attempt to shield him from the Deatheater’s eyes who had once been her friend. “Lily, do you think I would let him hurt you? Lily!”

She felt herself tremble; she could not have raised herself up even had she tried, her teeth shattering, every bone in her body hurting in feverish, nerve racking pain, her thoughts bouncing off the insides of her skull. Where was her husband? Where was Voldemort?

Something like a dark cloak was draped on the floor – she did not remember putting it there, but Severus made a delicate step across as he came closer, making an attempt to kneel next to her. “He’s gone. Lily, he’s gone – he spared you, I asked him to – I didn’t think he would, but I swear I would never – Dumbledore said…”

He reached out, his fingertips very gently touching a streak of dark red hair. In lieu of a wand to defend herself with, she raked her nails down his cheek, her skin feeling as if suddenly aflame at his touch; someone was screaming, and only belatedly she recognised her own voice as she struggled, fighting, clawing, hitting and biting whatever she got – _James, James, anyone, her wand, Deatheaters-_ And then the world tilted upside down, the door came crashing down as it was hit by another spell, one of the wooden bars of Harry’s bed gave in as she tried to pull herself up, desperately reaching for the baby, dragging him out of the bed, curling around her son in a vain attempt to protect him with her body if necessary, flashes of lightning dancing around the room – red, green, white – Severus stumbling backward and crashing head first into the remains of the baby bed, and she squeezed her own eyes shut, feeling nothing but Harry’s weight in her arms, and the tears on his cheeks mingling with her own.

Then, it was over. The world had suddenly turned into dead silence again, except for Harry’s stifled whimpering, and the heavy breathing from her own chest.

“Lily.” It was not Severus’ voice; her head shot up.

Sirius himself was white to the lips, dark hair having come loose from its usual ponytail during the duel, and falling over his face. He did not brush it back, his one hand clenched hard enough around his wand to make his knuckles turn white. In some distant part of her brain that was not occupied with immediate survival and not spinning like the wheels of a cart, she wondered if it would break if he went on with that.

“Do you want me to kill him?”

She had never heard his voice like that, cold as steel, the words short-clipped sounds with a deadly edge to them, a growl deep in his chest, lusting for blood – but she shook her head, wordlessly, every sound she could have made stuck in her throat.

“Where is James?” she whispered, though the slow, very slow return of rationality to at least the far edge of her brain reminded her that maybe, she did not want to know, not just yet, just leave her another moment of believing that James was merely downstairs fending off the rest of them, that he-

There were no tears in Sirius’ eyes – he wasn’t the type to cry, was he? – as he kneeled to pull her tight against himself. She did not struggle this time, one hand of hers instead curling into the folds of his cloak, hearing the sobbing in his chest nonetheless.


	2. Full Moon

**“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”**

_(John Green, The Fault in Our Stars)_

~*~

 

Lily Potter woke and was wide awake within seconds.

The room was dark and quiet, with only a small flicker of moonlight shining in through the heavy curtains of the room. Still, she could see the dark outlines of the man sitting by the window, cradling her son in his arms, and she knew it was the baby’s whimper that had woken her.

Other than that, she was alone. They had not placed any other patients in the room with her, though she didn’t know whether Dumbledore had requested it, or whether it was a matter of protection. Voldemort’s followers were still up and about. It had only been two weeks, after all.

She shifted in silence, though she didn’t doubt that Sirius had heard her. He didn’t move, but there was a subtle chance in his attitude, a certain attempt of his _not_ to look at her, grey eyes focused outside where the muggle streets lay in peace under the veil of night.

It was a full moon, she noticed, then.

The thought only caused a minor sting of pain in her chest, however; very much like the memory of a previous injury, nothing compared to the gaping hole the loss of her husband had left, whose edges had only just begun to scar.

The pale light deepened the lines on Sirius’ face, causing him to look a hundred years older and ten years younger at the same time. His skin seemed as white as a slab of marble, the eyes dark and hollow in the shadows, and there was no way she could have guessed what he was thinking.

He hadn’t spoken much ever since Hagrid had found them, had given only the barest account of what had happened. She did not remember much of the past two weeks anyway – hands, lots of hands, carefully examining the curse mark on her chest, someone taking Harry away from her for just the barest of moments as she screeched and tried to prevent them – not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry – the cool vial of a sleeping drought being pressed against her lips, the rough fabric of someone’s cloak and only in memory had she recognised the emerald color preferred by Minerva as the former head of her house held her tight in a surprisingly motherly way. Then darkness, and the merciful oblivion that came with sleep; the glittering gold-rimmed halfmoon glasses of Dumbledore as he questioned her, light brows furrowed in thought, the papery touch of his finger to the scar on her chest, very gently.

It had been two weeks she’d spent in St. Mungo’s so far. She’d never seen it from the inside, actually; Harry had not been born here, but in her own bed, and in a previous life, she would have been excited to explore this place, to speak to the healers and maybe sneak a book or two from the shelves of their medical library. In a previous life, James would have made it his personal mission to, well, borrow them for her, of course, inevitably finding some use for his invisibility cloak in the process. He’d loved to bring her gifts, some of them acquired more legally than others – a stolen snitch, sugar quills from Honeydukes, potion ingredients from The Magic Neep and Dogweed & Deathcap (though “can you imagine Snivellus’ face when he’s beaten in potions by a m- muggleborn for the fourth year in a row” still seemed a doubtful motivation to her), inkwells of her favourite color she’d not been able to afford, old spellbooks not only from the book shops, but also from his parents’ heritage…

She felt her eyes burn at the memory, and quickly pressed her eyelids together, swallowing harshly to fight back whatever tears might force their way out. It was only when she heard Sirius move that she opened them again.

At the window, she saw his shoulders square as if he had reached a decision, and he rose to his feet, slowly returning to the bed and placing Harry in her lap. His eyes met hers, still unreadable, and she felt her mouth turn try.

He reached for her hand, and placed it at the back of Harry’s head, the baby heavy in its sleep, quietly sucking his thumb, the black hair tousled and standing up in every possible direction. “I’ll be back” he said then, quietly, but very firmly, let go of her hand and turned to leave.

She stared at his back from where she sat. “Where are you going?”

He did not answer, but the door fell shut behind him with a very final sounding click, and within the blink of an eye she heard the telltale flutter-and-crack of disapparition.

It took a minute or so until realization struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she was out of the bed and halfway down the hallway, Harry clutched to her chest, before she even realized she was moving. The hem of her nightgown was slapping against the ankles of her bare feet as she crossed fluffy carpets and cold stones, half flinging herself onto the nearest healer, breathless and dry-lipped, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore!”, she gasped. Harry had woken up, of course, squirming and fussing in her arms, and the wizard stared at her.

 “You what?”

“I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore immediately!” she hissed, sudden fury welling up in her chest – directed towards Sirius and whatever idiot decision he’d come to, Dumbledore for not staying around and trying to talk him out of it – because there were few things Sirius would have deemed important enough to leave her alone, she knew that much – towards _everyone_ in this place, unreasonable as it might have been. “Now, it’s a life or death matter!”

The young man rubbed his eyes briefly – apparently it had not been his first night shift this week, though he tried to carry himself with as much dignity as possible.

“Professor Dumbledore is, obviously, not here” he pointed out, “In St. Mungo’s, I mean. We’ll send him an owl first thing in the morning, however, and then…”

“That’s _too late_! I need to speak to him imme-“

Her words were cut off as a group of healers rushed past them, and through the door at the end of the hallway, and the moment its wings swung open, a horrible, banshee-like scream was heard from the other side. It was a sound of pure blood-chilling agony, like she’d never heard from a human’s throat, and immediately, she clasped her free hand over Harry’s ear, pressing the other side of his head to her chest.

“You’ll excuse me, ma’am, looks like we’ve got an emergency coming in” the young man muttered, hastily reaching for a pair of dragon skin gloves from the side table and hurrying after his colleagues.

Lily’s toes felt numb from the cold, and a dreadful feeling rose inside her stomach.

Very slowly, she followed him.

 

It was about the kind of hideout you’d expect from a rat, except that it was a bit cleaner, perhaps. But not much.

There was a muggle saying that involved something about smelling a rat, too, which, in Sirius’ eyes wasn’t without some irony considering the fact that he was doing exactly that, in the literal sense of the word. It was bloody hard to figure out a trail that had been cold for two weeks, however, of course.

Still, there was the fact that Peter hadn’t passed his apparition exam, for all they knew, and thus he could not simply vanish into thin air.

After eight years, the transformation had lost much of its fascination, of course, and yet some part of him still marvelled at the way he saw his own bones shift beneath the skin, the way his senses would enhance as if he had spent the previous years of his life blind and deaf. James had jokingly suggested that he stay in his dog form forever; maybe he should have, Sirius wondered, because surely, Snuffles’ nose would have smelled a rat much sooner?

He banished that thought from his mind – for now. There would be a time to think of James, but not today, not yet. Hesitating for a brief moment, he waited until he’d picked up the scent, and followed it.


End file.
